And The Walls Come Tumbling Down
by strikingtwelve
Summary: Sometimes the Doctor just needs a hug. And a sit down. And a nap in Clara's arms. And a platonic 'I love you' that he would much rather not be platonic in the least. (Inspired by the newest Series 9 trailer, and written for the Doctor Who Hurt Comfort August challenge.)


She knew he didn't want to talk. Of course he didn't... did he ever? Always blocking everything and everybody out, continuing on about his day like an entire civilization had _not_ just been brutally murdered _because of him._

The screams.

The children crying.

Men dashing for their wives, cradling them, comforting them in what everyone knew were their last few moments.

And he let it happen.

"Doctor it wasn't your fault." Shouldn't she come up with something more clever to say? It always seemed like that was Clara's one and only line when it came to her hopeless attempt at comforting. Just a pat on the back. _There there, it'll be fine._ She wanted more than that. But what could she say when he didn't even listen?

His response was the usual. Pitiful shrug accompanied by a huff of disagreement. That always seemed to be the end of the conversation. Bye, Clara. See you next Wednesday. But not this time. She wasn't giving up on him again.

"Doctor."

Those ridiculous shades lingered in his grasp and he dropped them into one pocket to rest both free hands against the console, shoulders slumped with defeat and a bowed head. At this point he would subtly sulk a second or two, Clara would hear a sniff and the cracks in his back as he stretched before darting to the monitor and begin rambling about their plans for the following week. Never again.

"You okay?" A step further in her mission and across the floor. "We can talk about it..." Even with his back turned she could sense his smile. The one that appreciated her motives but remained determined not to speak his mind.

"I'm fine, Clara." He promised, his head only bobbing back up when he felt her arms come around to clasp over his chest, fingers interlocked and her soft cheek against his bony shoulder. He smiled again, completely relaxed, head leaning against hers as he gave her arm a little pat of thanks. "I'm okay."

"Well you shouldn't be." She mumbled, squeezing him a bit tighter, holding him a bit closer. "As a good man once told me, there are some things we should never really be okay about." She felt his muscle tense and relax, saw his face alternate between conflicting emotions until he just finally broke. He didn't speak. He didn't have to . But he wasn't okay, and finally he managed to make it known without a fight.

His voice was casual. Didn't crack, didn't waver, but the words were all Clara needed. "D'you want to stay the night again?"

She had weaved her way into a habit of spending more nights aboard the TARDIS than usual. They'd spend their time like a couple of goofy year eights at their first slumber party. Stay up late together, read, watch a film, and get just a tiny bit closer every time. Spending hours upon hours in shameless domesticity until they departed to their own bedrooms, rested up for a whole new day of adventure.

Clara detected their usual 'slumber party' might dwindle down into something a bit more mellow tonight. "Sounds good." Her hands snaked back to rub his shoulders and guide him away. "Film tonight? You promised we'd watch Marry Poppins sometime."

His brow quirked in consideration and he let out a decisive breath. "Suppose. Go on and get changed."

And she did. Got into her most comfortable sleep wear, slipped on those little TARDIS blue slippers the Doctor had 'purchased' but more likely stolen, then met up together for a peaceful evening.

His face was in his palms and his elbows on his knees, body sagging with exhaustion and only straightening when Clara entered. "Someone looks comfy."

"Someone looks sleepy." She sank down directly at his side on the sofa. Clara felt a surge of pride for finally, after ages of effort, wearing him down until he just simply didn't care whether or not she touched him. Didn't care or didn't mind. One of those. So Clara took full advantaged and leaned on his shoulder, feet curled up at her side and her body only shifting when he adjusted his arm to rest around her shoulders. He snapped his fingers and the lights dimmed, the film started to play.

"Never realized how much of a Marry Poppins you are." Clara giggled.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Don't even get me started. Bag is bigger on the inside, her personality is practically spot on with yours." She joked. "And that umbrella..."

"Don't say it."

"And the umbrella's your TARDIS!"

The Doctor just shook his head incredulously with a weak laugh. "Shut up."

Clara smiled and settled against him again. By the time the end was drawing closer she was beginning to feel the frequent jerks of his body as his head lulled and shot up again, fingers kneading against his eyes as he fought sleep. "Go on to bed."

"Nah, it's almost over." He massaged his temples and fixed his eyes on the TV. They immediately started to droop.

"Doctor." She laughed. "You're exhausted. At least lie down." He didn't have a choice in the matter this time. Clara inched to the opposite side of the impressively large sofa.

As he laid back he started to mumble. "Staying or going?" His head fell in her lap. He hardly seemed to notice.

"Staying." Her hand disappeared as it sank into his thick silver curls. "Love you, you idiot. Sleep well."

He hummed a tired, "Love you too." and the worries of the day were forgotten as the Doctor fell asleep in Clara's arms.


End file.
